


planting seeds in a garden you'll never get to see

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (accompanied by aLL OF THE DOCTOR WHO REFERENCES), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Alternate Universe- The Election is actually decent, Blind Date, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8320900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: in which time is traveled through, forwards, backwards, up and down; friends are made, lovers are lost; ; and daMNIT WASHINGTON NEEDS A BREAK
or The One Where The Author Pretends That Her Eighth Grade Knowledge Of Science Can Be Used To Write A Serious Sci Fi Fic





	

**Author's Note:**

> hey thnks fr reading 
> 
> I POSTED CHAPTER ONE THEN I ORPHANED IT IM SORRY

 

It was a common belief that John Laurens was a shy, troubled, kid.

 

That was a complete fiction. At least the shy part. While he had never been the most socially competent for sure, and he didn’t exactly actively seek out social interaction, he would argue with anyone if given the chance. Or even if he wasn’t. As for troubled, most of that came from being at the center of a political scandal for much of his childhood. 

 

His mother Eleanor, rest her soul, was sexually assaulted by Henry Laurens, Junior Senator in the state of South Carolina at the time. And, due to the state’s heavily restrictive laws, as well as lack of money, she was forced to carry the child to term. That’s the point where most people would’ve given up, but Eleanor kept the child, and gave him the best life she could. She took on a third job so her son could go to a nicer school. She spent money she didn’t have on a house she didn’t need so John could have the picture perfect childhood she’d dreamed of.

 

Then, the unimaginable happend. In 2000, when her son was eight, Eleanor Ball was diagnosed with brain cancer, and John was sent to live with his garbage dump of a father, Henry Laurens. He convinced the nanny his dad had hired him to take him to see his mother every day before she died. He watched her mental state slowly deteriorate, until she forgot or own son's name. He held her hand as he died.

 

As if that wasn’t enough, this also coincided with Henry’s run for the United States Senate. He’d tried to hide John away, treating him like nothing more than a minor inconvenience, or a political asset to win the minority vote. When John, reasonably, didn’t comply with his ridiculous demands, he wasn’t afraid to use his fists to put him in place. So John didn’t fight back when his dad sent him away to a boarding school in Connecticut. Sure he had made one friend, his roommate, Lafayette, a French kid who’s dad was also in politics, and he really engaged himself with his studies, but any good experience was forgotten once he spent the summer in DC again.

 

That brings us to today. John was at a coffee shop near his dad’s house, attempting to study for his AP Physics class next year. He hadn’t been there before, but he’d been avoiding home a lot more recently. Being distracted was pretty uncommon for him, something he prided himself on. But a stranger tapping your shoulder and yelling your name was bound to get your attention. Said stranger was wearing a baggy green sweatshirt, had greasy black hair in a loose ponytail, and a little bit of stubble that didn’t say intentional, rather I haven’t slept in 4 days. Yet John found him a little cute in that sense.

 

“Laurens! I’ve looked everywhere for you-” the Stranger began, trying to catch up with his breath. John is a little taken aback by the fact that the stranger is referring to him by his name. Does he know this guy? Maybe he was from his school. “Hey did you get a haircut?” Stranger asked.

 

John tan his hand through his close cropped curls, he’d had the same style for nearly his whole life. It’s probably just a mistake, right? Maybe he’d been recognized from the coverage for the scandal which took place nearly ten years ago. He scoured his mind for any recollection of the face in front of him. “Who are you?” John asked, reaching for his phone and wondering if now was a good time to call the police.

 

“So you don’t recognize me?” John shook his head. “I’m Alex. Please don’t call the cops on me.” He responds, while taking John’s phone out of his hand.

 

“Well that narrows it down,” John responded sarcastically. “Look, it’s really important that I do this work.” That was a lie. He had all summer.

 

Alex took the pencil right out of John’s hand, “I promise that this is at least a hundred times more important than any schoolwork.” He pulled out the chair to sit next to John. “Do you really not know me, keep in mind, your answer will in fact change the course of human history.” His large black eyes seemed to get even larger and blacker.

 

“Way to be melodramatic,” John replied, “No, I don’t know you, why?”

 

“John, what do you know about time travel?” Alex asked. John would have asked if this was some crazy prank, pulled by Martha or James, but Alex is dead serious.

 

“Not much, I mean I love Doctor Who, but I doubt that counts,” John replied, “You’re not a time traveler- are you?” When Alex doesn’t reply for a second John is in total shock “Oh my god, you’re a time traveller.”

 

“Shhhhh!” Alex motioned. 

 

“You’re a time traveler!” he repeated, slightly softer this time. Or it was some  _ really _ sick joke.

 

“Technically we’re all time travellers,” Alex began, taking a sip of John’s coffee. “Moving at a rate of one second for second. We enter a new timeline with every choice we make. We’re only ripples in a cosmic stream of energy.”

 

“That’s not what I mean.” John rolled his eyes. In any other circumstance he’d be 300% done with Alex and his pretentious bull but something about him just seemed to make John hate him a little less. “You traveled  _ back _ in time, correct?” 

 

“That is correct,” Alex confirmed, “and no- I can’t tell you how it’s possible it’d tear a hole in the spacetime continuum or something. Look, I’ve only got a few minutes left, and I need to give you this.” He fished out a crumpled piece of notebook paper with oddly familiar handwriting.

 

“That’s my handwriting,” John protested, because who else wrote “g’s” like a typewriter and over crossed his “t’s”. 

 

“Indeed it is,” Alex agreed, “This was written by John Laurens on February 8th, 2017.” John stared at the paper in disbelief. Surely, this was a joke, he couldn’t be getting a letter from ten years in the future- he doubted that people would even write by hand by then. “You can read it later,” Alex commented, noticing how John had his eyes glued to the thing.

 

“Why do you have this?” John retracted a little, “Am I dead in the future?” He only asked that because it sounded just cliche enough for it to be true. “Or, your present,” he corrected himself, avoiding another poetic ramble.

 

“Kind of,” Alex responded, “Professor Washington- you’ll hear about him in the letter- made this time machine, right? And you volunteered to test it, we set the coordinates for this coffee shop, at roughly. Then, you’d follow some directions and make it back to the lab, so you could go back to 2015.”

 

“So what’s the problem?” John asked.

 

“In my timeline it’s 2017, and you’re not back.” John wanted more context, but before he could ask, Alex was occupied by a beeping noise from his watch and frantically dashed towards the supposed “labs”.

 

So John read the letter.

 

_ Dear Past John, _

 

_ Hi. I just wanted to start off by saying a few things. First, yes this is you. Second, yes this is you from 2015, and Third, no Ben from History does not like you back. I know you will spend time agonizing over that, just do your studies. I wrote this letter in case I don’t make it, because then I need past me to find out what was wrong with the experiment and fix it.  _

 

_ So first, you need to get into MIT. I know it sounds really hard, but debate team, tennis, and robotics do wonders to an application. Seriously. If you don’t, you will never time travel. _

 

_ Second, you need to stay friends with Laf, because one day one of those stupid blind dates he takes you on will result in an engagement (and hopefully a wedding if all goes well with this). If you don’t, you will never meet the light of your life, the best person ever (he’s the one with the poetic stuff). I’d tell you his name, but I’m pretty sure that’d mess up the space time continuum even more than it already had. _

 

_ Third, you need to come out to dad right now. He’ll kick you out sooner or later, but this way, you can contact the press and ruin his chances at senatorial reelection. That’s more of a personal thing, but now he’s running again and it’s scary. He’s passed three bills on conversion therapy. I don’t give a shit about spacetime for this one. _

 

_ Finally, when you set the coordinates for your flight, set them to (7002.4767123288 , 38.9072° N, 77.0369° W. ). Note the time. _

 

_ And leave the coffee shop, now. _

 

_ Best of luck, _

_ You. _

 

**____________________________________________________________________________**

 

_ resfeber (noun) _

_ The tangled feelings of fear and excitement before a journey begins. _

 

At the age of 26, Alexander Hamilton quite frankly, wanted to die. Not in a self loathing or suicidal way or anything. But he had lost everyone in life that he cared about. When he was 10, his father died in a car crash, the night after he abandoned his mother, his brother and him. When he was 12, his mother died of a preventable illness. When he was 15 his cousin, his legal guardian, committed suicide. When he was 17, a hurricane destroyed his town, and everyone in it.

 

And despite that, he  _ kept _ on working.    
  


His geniusness had helped him earn a scholarship to the Harvard, one of the most universities in the United States. It was the only good thing anyone outside of his family had ever done for him. It was there when- between learning everything he possibly could about everything, fighting multiple people, and meeting a total of two friends- he both met and lost John Laurens. At this point, Alex could barely think of his name without bursting into tears. 

 

He was stuck on the first stage of grief: denial. He had never believed that Laurens was lost. He was out to prove to Professor Washington that he was still there. Alex put his law degree on hold to work on this project. Everyone thought he was crazy for continuing work on the project, because quite frankly, he was. If not for John, he was doing this for humanity, he justified it.  He wasn’t entirely wrong, George Frederick was the worst president in American History- including James Buchanan. 

 

But one day, once the machine was up and running, Alex jumped right in without another thought. He set the machine to two days before John attempted to go - June 20th, 2007. That’d give him time to find him. Alex waited impatiently for the coordinates to be calculated before just thinking “screw it” and slammed that button.

 

He blacked out for most of the travel, probably out of fear. He anticipated whatever had taken John would’ve taken him, but he was wrong. He checked the tracking device he’d slipped in his pocket before departing. Same day he should be, June 20th. Wrong place though. He was only a few buildings away, which Alex chose to view as a minor inconvenience, rather than a flaw in technology. He found a young Professor Washington there too. He explained his story, and, after a significant initial shock, was allowed to sleep in one of the empty dorms. The next day, he would look for John.

 

Three days had passed with no sign, and Alex began to worry. In a state of panic, he got on the next train directly to DC. He knew that was where Past John would be, because in the research it said to avoid it at all costs. He spent three more days looking for Past John, until one day he was getting a cup of coffee, and he saw a familiar sweatshirt. He knew that sweatshirt. He would steal that sweatshirt. He ran up to him, “Laurens!” he exclaimed, nearly crying tears of joy, “I’ve looked everywhere for you! Hey, did you get a haircut?” Of course he didn’t. This was Past John.

 

“So you don’t recognize me?” Past John shook his head. “I’m Alex. Please don’t call the cops on me.” Alex responded, while taking Past John’s phone out of his hand.

 

“Well that narrows it down,” Past John responded sarcastically, “Look, it’s really important that I do this work.” He was doing the thing only John can do. Make Alex regret interrupting him

 

Alex took the pencil right out of Past John’s hand, “I promise that this is at least a hundred times more important than any schoolwork.” He pulled out the chair to sit next to Past John. “Do you really not know me, keep in mind, your answer will in fact change the course of human history.” John raised an eyebrow as if to say “is this guy for real?”

 

Then he took a deep breath and noticed some important (albiet blatant) details.

 

  1. His hair was in the style John liked to call the ridiculously-terrible-short-attempt-at-an-afro but it actually looked kinda cute
  2. The sweatshirt was ridiculously big on Past John
  3. Past John had no idea who he was



 

“Who are you?” Past John accused, starring Alex dead in the eyes, reaching for his phone to call the cops. Alex knew him too well. He also knew that there was  _ no way _ he’d be able to explain his story to the police.

 

“So you don’t recognize me?” Past John shook his head. “I’m Alex. Please don’t call the cops on me.” Alex responds, while taking John’s phone out of his hand.

 

“Well that narrows it down,” Past John responded sarcastically. “Look, it’s really important that I do this work.” Alex felt betrayed to say the least.

 

In a moment of (poor?) judgement, Alex took the pencil right out of Past John’s hand, “I promise that this is at least a hundred times more important than any schoolwork.” He pulled out the chair to sit next to John. “Do you really not know me, keep in mind, your answer will in fact change the course of human history.” He hated to have to resort to being melodramatic.

 

“Way to be melodramatic,” Past John replied, “No, I don’t know you, why?”

 

“John, what do you know about time travel?” Alex asked, trying to figure out the best way to break the news.

 

“Not much, I mean I love Doctor Who, but I doubt that counts,” Past John replied, unintentionally stirring memories of the two of them spending nights watching the show on Netflix “You’re not a time traveler- are you? Oh my god, you’re a time traveller!”

 

“Shhhhh!” Alex motioned. 

 

“You’re a time traveler!” he repeated, slightly softer this time. Alex began to doubt his  (ex?) boyfriends reasoning skills.

 

“Technically we’re all time travellers,” Alex began, taking a sip of Past John’s coffee. Way too sweet.  “Moving at a rate of one second for second. We enter a new timeline with every choice we make. We’re only ripples in a cosmic stream of energy.”

 

“That’s not what I mean.” Past John rolled his eyes. That was a very John like thing to do  “You traveled back in time, correct?” 

 

“That is correct,” Alex confirmed, “and no- I can’t tell you how it’s possible it’d tear a hole in the spacetime continuum or something. Look, I’ve only got a few minutes left, and I need to give you this.” He fished out a crumpled piece of notebook paper he’d brought along just in case.

 

“That’s my handwriting,” John protested, to which Alex was aching to respond, “hell yes,”

 

“Indeed it is,” Alex agreed, “This was written by John Laurens on February 8th, 2017.” Past John stared at the paper in disbelief. Alex watched his pupils expand to the size of quarters. It was an odd sensation, really. “You can read it later,” Alex commented, noticing how John had his eyes glued to the thing.

 

“Why do you have this?” Past John retracted a little, ABORT MISSION,  “Am I dead in the future?” Crap, he was getting a little  _ too  _ intuitive “Or, your present,” Past John corrected himself, avoiding another poetic ramble.

 

“Kind of,” Alex responded, approaching the topic with ease “Professor Washington- you’ll hear about him in the letter- made this time machine, right? And you volunteered to test it, we set the coordinates for this coffee shop, at roughly. Then, you’d follow some directions and make it back to the lab, so you could go back to 2015.” That was the gist of it.

 

“So what’s the problem?” Past John asked.

 

“In my timeline it’s 2017, and you’re not back.” Alex wanted to elaborate, and to be honest he probably could, but  the timer he’d set was going off. He had to make it back to MIT before the connection broke and he was stuck here forever. 

  
There has to be another way.


End file.
